


Prisoner's Dilemma

by Cranky_Tanky



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: "i hate you but you're hot", Drinking, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Quick Burn, Sort Of, grudges to lovers?, ratchet is megatron's tutor for learning medical stuff, what's the opposite of pining?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:22:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29213355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cranky_Tanky/pseuds/Cranky_Tanky
Summary: Ratchet is most assuredly NOT into Megatron, thank you very much. The very idea is ridiculous.Likewise, Megatron is also very much NOT into Ratchet. It would be entirely inappropriate and they have no chemistry..... so who's going to crack first?
Relationships: Megatron/Ratchet (Transformers)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	Prisoner's Dilemma

**Author's Note:**

> This was based off an idea I discussed with I believe, @BlueMinuet at TFCon 2019? Either way this was a ton of fun!

Ratchet adjusted his reading glasses and squinted down through them as he tried to find their sweet spot. He was attempting to get a last little bit of paperwork done before his shift ended, and the letters had long stopped making sense. He’d considered just throwing in the buffing rag -- he was CMO, he could do that -- but then he’d just have to do it tomorrow, and he had a few more than average general physicals to do tomorrow, plus  _ more _ paperwork. Including -- ugh -- Whirl’s.

Not wanting to think about how delightful that would surely be, Ratchet grumbled and set the datapad down, taking off his glasses to scrub his eyes for a hard reset. Still grumbling, he put his glasses back on, finally found the right angle, and got back to reading, whipping his signature on the bottom of the line and starting on another one. By the sixth datapad in a row, he was getting rather cantankerous.  _ “I want to be a medic, _ all the young ones say,” he griped,  _ “I want to be a medic, I want to be a medic,  _ well, get used to paperwork first, kid…”

“I take that to mean another time, Doctor?” A honey-smooth voice rang out, and Ratchet jumped with a cranky shout, hand flying to clutch over his spark. When he glared over at the medibay doors, Megatron was leaned in the doorway, an irritating smirk just starting to tug at his lips. Ratchet sagged in his chair and grumped.

“I’m sorry to have scared you, Doctor,” Megatron chuckled, uncrossing his arms and walking over, his footsteps steady on the floor. The medibay doors closed behind him. “But should I take your paperwork musings as a cancellation?”

“No, let’s just get it over with, you insufferable wordy  _ pedant,” _ Ratchet griped, getting up even as his joints protested.  _ “Ugh! _ Come on, let’s go to the back.” Megatron followed as directed, as Ratchet took off and put away his reading glasses, the awkward silence getting to the doctor. “How was your shift?”

“Oh, you know,” Megatron said idly, looking around as they went into one of the back rooms. “Never a dull moment on this ship. Rodimus was trying to do a headstand in the captain’s chair when I reported for shift start.”

“Did he fall?”

“No, everything was fine.”

“Eh. A shame,” Ratchet grumbled, and tried not to smile when Megatron chuckled. “It could teach him a thing or two.”

“It could,” Megatron said, shutting the door to the main back room behind them as Ratchet turned on the lights.They buzzed, softly. The lighting was harsh, reflecting off of Megatron’s fresh wax. A table was in the center of the room with an average-size Cybetronian medical dummy. The room was warm, and one of the ceiling lights flickered. The co-captain glanced up at it, and chewed the inside of his cheek. “I’ll ask someone to fix the lighting for you tomorrow,” he murmured, and then came around to the other side of the table.

“Megatron, please.” Ratchet sighed and pulled over a tool trolley, wanging it around the table to Megatron’s side. “You don’t need to oil me up to get me to tutor you, I already agreed. Now, tell me what’s what.”

Megatron made no comment beyond doing what Ratchet told him to do, picking apart the dummy and telling Ratchet exactly which part was what. Ratchet did have to admit, Megatron was a phenomenal student, and not just because he could retain information. The bot was a wonderful listener. Ratchet still remembered when Megatron had come to him in the first place and asked to be tutored in medical matters. It had barely been a week after he’d joined the ship, and he’d come to Ratchet’s office after-hours looking uncharacteristically subdued. He’d asked with his head hung low, as if expecting to be turned away, and when Ratchet had gruffly agreed (for what reason was beyond even Ratchet himself), Megatron had looked up in shock before smoothly regaining his composure and dipping his head. That had been a month ago. They met at the end of every week after-hours.

Megatron pulled back, done with his task. Ratchet nodded, clearing his throat. “Good. Good. Did you fill out the datapads I sent you back with last time?”

“Yes, Doctor.” Megatron pulled them out of his subspace and handed them over -- Ratchet set the other two down and grabbed the first one, looking over it with a critical eye and marking things wrong or right as he went. He felt eyes on him halfway through the datapad and glanced up -- Megatron quickly looked away.

“Something on my face, Co-Captain?”

“No, Doctor.” Megatron continued to avert his eyes, lips drawn tightly a little, just barely noticeable. “Forgive me. I let my eyes wander.”

“Eh.” Ratchet went back to the datapad and marked off the last few questions, setting it aside and picking up the second one. “Look over what I marked on that first one, will you.”

“Of course.” Megatron’s massive hand gently picked up the datapad and the big bot began looking it over, red eyes scanning rapidly. Ratched watched him from over the top edge of the datapad in his own hands, and watched the red from Megatron’s eyes flicker over the underside of his brow ridge, over his nose, and just the tiniest bit onto his lips, illuminating the topography of his face. Those red eyes paused in their scanning and flicked up to Ratchet, who quickly glanced down to his own datapad and got to reading. Megatron made no comment -- when Ratchet dared to peek up just a few seconds later, the co-captain had gone back to reading. Megatron set his datapad down just as Ratchet set down the second one and picked up the third. 

“You know what to do,” the doctor said, “Swap off.”

Megatron dutifully picked up the second one. Ratchet watched the joints in his fingers delicately flex for him to pick up the datapad and watched his beefy hands hold it gently. Ratchet learned his lesson from his last zone-out and grumbled, welding his eyes to the third datapad in his hands. Megatron hadn’t done so well in this one. Ratchet wasn’t surprised -- it was the newest material. The Co-Captain was normally restrictively meticulous in his spelling in his announcements or usual diction, but his lack of formal education bled through in his attempts at phonetically spelling the newest medical terms he wasn’t already familiar with. Ratchet just corrected his mistakes in both spelling and vocabulary in the margins.

“Alright, then,” Ratchet announced, putting the datapads aside. “Now for the juicy bits.”

Megatron coughed once, cheeks darkening as he blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“Your training, lunkhead,” Ratchet grumped, glaring at Megatron under his eyebrows. “Don’t make me get the wrench.”

“Er -- certainly.”

Ratchet took him through it, having Megatron diagnose issues, perform visual exams, and navigate his new medical scanner mod. As they were wrapping up, Ratchet put all the training tools back on the cart. “Wanna go for drinks?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Ratchet glared over his shoulder. “Wanna go for drinks?”

“I… don’t think I’m allowed, Ratchet.” Megatron phrased carefully, clearly tasting each word as it left him. “My rations --”

“Yeah.” Ratchet sighed, putting his hands on his hips and thinking for a minute. “Well, fuck the rations. For tonight, at least.”

“Ratchet, I appreciate the offer, but I have to be serious about --”

“Doctor’s orders,” Ratchet announced, taking out a prescription notepad and scribbling down his “prescription.” In the ‘notes’ line, he wrote “because I fucking said so.” “Look, if you actually don’t want to grab a drink, just say so. I’m a big boy. But if the rations is the only thing holding you back, fuck’em.”

“I have to set an example,” Megatron said gravely.

“I’ll order them, bring ‘em back, and we can have ‘em in my office,” Ratchet said. “You’re worse than Magnus the first time he smiled.”

“I --” Megatron opened his mouth, and then snapped it closed. He dithered internally for a moment, chewing the inside of his cheek again, the same one as earlier. “That -- actually sounds… nice.”

“Uh-huh.” Ratchet fought off a smirk. “Well, go on then. Get. You know where my office is, go ahead and sit down.”

Ratchet left to go to Swerve’s, not checking to see if Megatron heeded his word. In the hall, he ran into Skids, who was on his way to Swerve’s as well. 

“Hey, hey, Doc,” Skids crowed, cheerfully. “How’s it humming? Everything good? Assaulted anyone with a wrench lately?”

“No, but you’ll be next if you don’t get off my backplates,” Ratchet growled, trusting Skids to know it was playful. “Got it?”

“Hey, aie, aie!” Skids danced away, still keeping stride as he laughed. “Ouchie! Mercy, Doctor, mercy! Say -- did you hear the news about Mags and Rodimus, lately?”

“Oh my god, who hasn’t?” Ratchet rolled his eyes and scoffed, but a smile teased at his lips. “Maybe Magnus will finally whip him into shape.”

“Yeah, and maybe the sun will go out tomorrow,” Skids laughed, prompting a snort from Ratchet as well. “And speaking of romance,” he cooed, in a tone of voice that made Ratchet suspicious just  _ hearing  _ it, “There’s word they aren’t the  _ only  _ two lovebirds on this ship.”

“Who in the hell --” Ratchet stopped midstride, making Skids jog a couple of steps back to stay in front of him.  _ “Who?  _ Don’t tell me -- did you  _ finally  _ buck up and talk to Rung?”

“Er --  _ what? _ No!” Skids blushed furiously, scratching the back of his head. “Rung’s not -- we aren’t -- um, he’s nice, but -- look, Rung’s got his own shindig goin’ on, and I wouldn’t want to get in the way of that. He and Swerve have been eyeing each other  _ pret-ty  _ hard, but you didn’t hear that from me, gotcha?”

“Uh-huh.” Ratchet smiled to himself. It was good that Rung was finally getting out there… even if neither he nor Swerve would make a move unprompted if it would save their lives. Ratchet never said that Rung was  _ good  _ at putting himself out there… or Swerve, for that matter, who talked a whole lot but said almost nothing. It’d be a wonder if they got together before Ratchet rusted away from entropy.. “Well, who is it?”

“Uh --” Skids giggled, confused. “Well, I  _ thought  _ it was you and Megatron.”

“What?” Ratchet snapped, brows drawing low as his sparkbeat picked up. “No!  _ Hell _ no! What made you -- who the hell --  _ what?!” _

“What, it’s the talk of the ship lately!” Skids cried, shrugging as he bared his palms defensively, as if to push Ratchet’s argument away. “You and Megs, meeting after hours, at the end of every week… look, no judgement here. He looks like a three course meal with dessert.”

“Will you  _ cheese it?” _ Ratchet snipped, vents flaring to dump hot air. His fists clenched, and he was still pleased in the back of his mind that they no longer creaked. “I’m -- it’s not like that!”

“Hey, hey, I get it.” Skids shrugged smugly, grinning. “You don’t kiss and tell.”

“I’ll beat your ass, you little -- !” Ratchet growled, snorting, and Skids just laughed, transforming and racing down the hall.

“Catch you later, Party Ambulance!” he called after himself, and Ratchet cursed Swerve’s name for  _ ever  _ letting that bit of background get out. “Use protection!”

“Get bent!”

  
  


\-----------------------------------

  
  


Megatron sat on the couch in Ratchet’s office, running his fingers over the soft depression in the cushion, from night after night of wear and use. A blanket laid over the back, and a pair of cybuprofen sat on the endtable by the right armrest. It was slightly chilly in Ratchet’s office, enough to make the Co-Captain shiver once, briefly.

He’d just pulled out a datapad when Ratchet stomped in, holding two drinks. “No-good smug little shithead bastard,” he muttered to himself, stamping around and putting his own drink down on his desk, stomping over to hand Megatron his before going back over to his own drink. “Little fucker thinks he’s so smart… asshole.”

“Something the matter, Doctor?” Megatron asked, hesitantly. He took a sip of his drink and nearly melted, trying not to make it too obvious. He’d almost forgotten what real fuel felt like, and was intensely thankful he didn’t feel the urge to gag as he swallowed.

“Just Skids being a smartass,” Ratchet sighed, finally calming. Then, he even chuckled, to Megatron’s surprise. “Good kid. Pain in the ass, though. He thought --” at this, Ratchet snorted, laughing a little harder and then pointing between them, “He thought you and I --” more snorting and laughter, and finally Ratchet erupted with a “HA!” and doubled over, wheezing. “He thought you and I were together! Imagine!”

Megatron choked into his drink, coughing, and found himself laughing as well, along with the doctor, though there was a part of him that was… upset, for some reason. Why, he had no clue, but he didn’t like how Ratchet brushed the notion aside as if it was so humorous. Megatron, irritated at himself, resolved to get more sleep that night. “Where in the galaxy did he get that idea?”

“Oh, you know how it is on this ship,” Ratchet waved off, souring a little. “Someone farts and everyone knows about it by afternoon.”

“Hmph.” Megatron grumbled, nodding in agreement. “Too much gossip.”

“Thank you!” Ratchet cried, toasting the sentiment and then slurping. “Too many busybodies! Something happens and before you know it six different people are disseminating the news, damned if it’s real or not! Got too much time on their hands, if you ask me.”

“Are you about to say ‘back in my day?’” Megatron asked wryly as Rachet’s lips formed the sound. The doctor flushed bright pink and his vents flapped open, huffing out air.

“Well, look at you, getting  _ cocky,”  _ Ratchet said, wagging a finger. “Maybe I was and maybe I wasn’t!”

“Why don’t you sit down, Doctor,” Megatron chuckled, unable to resist a little light teasing. It had been longer than he thought since he’d had good fuel -- it was making him feel younger again, downright spritely. “We wouldn’t want your old joints suffering any abuse.”

“Oh, I’ll come over there alright,” Ratchet said, and downed the last of his drink, coming over to sit right next to Megatron… only to flick him in the helm. “More where that comes from if you keep getting snippy,” he insisted, and then crossed his arms.

Megatron laughed. “I’m sorry, Doctor,” he cooed, smoothly, leaning in a little. Ratchet was indeed very handsome. Megatron had been worried when he’d first come to Ratchet that he was going to get fobbed off onto First Aid. Aid was perfectly nice, but… Megatron had loathed the idea of anyone but Rachet teaching him. He didn’t know why. He assumed it was because he and Ratchet already had a history, but it wasn’t exactly a good one. The Co-Captain chewed at the worn patch in his cheek, and smoothed his tongue over it in between bouts of chewing.

Ratchet was uncharacteristically quiet, letting the moment hang, and Megatron watched a spread of the lightest pink dust his cheeks. Megatron’s own face was hot, too. Ratchet had wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and lines by his mouth. At first, the Co-Captain had thought him severe. But he was moreso…

“What are you looking at?” Ratchet grumbled.

  
  


…  _ grumpy.  _ Megatron just smiled in return and sipped from his cup, pulling away. He might not have been into Ratchet -- certainly not -- but he wouldn’t mind having a little fling. It had been a long time -- possibly a Starscream ago. “Nothing,” he said, after a moment. 

“Uh huh.” Ratchet eyed him cantankerously, tapping a finger on his own elbow. “Well, don’t go getting any ideas. We aren’t compatible.”

“Surely not,” Megatron hummed in agreement, that was definitely real.

“And we have bad blood between us.”

“Oh, for certain,” Megatron agreed, lowering his brows and nodding heartily in agreement, even as he tried not to smile.

“And I’m not even into you.”

“Of course, Doctor.”

“And you aren’t into me!”

“Wise as always,” Megatron hummed, closing his eyes to nod along serenely -- but his smile finally breaking through belied his sarcasm.

“And you -- you bastard you, you’re doing this on purpose!” Ratchet smacked his shoulder. “Smug shitheel. You’re as bad as Skids.” He turned away, crossing his arms and waggling his foot as he crossed one leg over the other. “I’m not into you,” he said, strongly, but it sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “Even if you are -- handsome.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” 

“And big.” Ratchet grumbled, seeming to weigh his options. “And -- oh, fuck it.” he turned around and grabbed Megatron by the collar fairing. “Put your drink down and get over here.”


End file.
